49. Preston
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
preston
The buzz from my watch and a soft melody wake me up. I kill the alarm before it disturbs Mia and slip into my daughter’s room without a sound. She babbles nonsense in her sleep, and I try to decode it, chasing fragments of her dream.
I let myself dream wide awake—of a future I’ve got no right to imagine. Too soon. Too sudden. Yet, it warms my chest anyway, a future I’m not meant to hold, not meant to hope for.
Sleep drags me under again, and another alarm wakes me a second time.
I climb into Lily’s bed for a cuddle and a tickle while we spin a quick story together.
It’s one of our favorite pastimes. When we get up, she changes into her uniform, but her hair is a glorious mess, so I head to the bathroom for a brush.
Mia opens the door of her room, and I change course, striding toward her to steal a kiss and her breath. She’s still catching it, eyes closed, when I turn back and call, loud enough for both to hear, “Look who I found in the hallway.”
She follows me, footsteps uneven. Her smile is bright when she faces me, but it blazes when she turns to Lily. My chest swells, the air getting trapped in my throat. This could work. This could actually work. I let myself daydream a little more.
“Morning, Mia. Come, jump with me.” My little monkey bounces on her bed, one arm stretched in invitation.
“Oh, Lils, I don’t think your bed can handle both of us, love,” Mia says, reluctant but smiling, as she steps onto the air mattress to grab Lily’s hand and boost her higher.
God knows what’s gotten into me this morning, but I add, just before throwing myself onto the other end, “I wouldn’t trust that laminated frame either, but this one’s safe enough. Jump, Lily!”
I land on it with all my weight, and Mia’s feet fly skyward. She crashes onto the double airbed—thankfully ass first—with Lily toppling over her. The mattress blows with a sharp pop, and the three of us go down in a heap of laughter and squeals and laughter until we’re sprawled flat on the floor.
“Dad, where are you going to sleep tonight?” my sensible daughter asks, a worry I do not share.
Mia eases her concern. “I’ll get him a new mattress today, Lils. A sturdier one.”
I get up first and help the girls to their feet. “Do you mind getting Lily ready while I make us breakfast?”
“That is my job, Doctor,” she whispers for my ears only.
“Right.” I laugh it off.
Downstairs, I line up protein smoothies for Mia and me and move on to the healthy weekday pancakes. I’m feeling blueberries today.
My phone vibrates on the kitchen island, and I instinctively ignore it. No phones during mealtime. House rules. But it keeps at it. After the third time, I check who’s calling and pick it up when I see it’s April.
“What’s wrong?” No hello. Just concern weighing heavy on my shoulders.
“Pres, Dr. Katherine Holloway’s been in a car accident. She asked to be taken here instead of St. Matthews and won’t let anyone touch her but you.”
“Wait. Kate? Head of Ortho at St. Matthews? My old boss?”
“The one and only. Listen—it’s bad. She’s got a burst fracture at L1, fragments pushing into the spinal canal.
No motor function below the waist. If we don’t decompress and stabilize soon, the paralysis could be permanent.
She knows it—she’s seen the scans herself, and still, she signed off on the risks and is asking for you. ”
“This makes no sense. Why didn’t she go to her hospital, call someone from her team?”
“Don’t play deaf. We don’t have time for it. She wants you. I’ve cleared it with the board. If you’re up for it, come. Now.”
“Of course I’m coming. It’s Kate. I’ll be right there. Let me talk to Lily and Mia first.”
“Yeah, yeah. But hurry. She can’t afford to wait.”
“Damn it. Get the A-team ready. You know who. Schedule the OR. Page the head of neuro, I want him there too. I’ll be there in twenty or less. Email me what I need to know.”
I race up the stairs, forcing deep breaths to school my face so I don’t scare Lily.
“Listen, girls. Something happened at the hospital, and I’m needed there.” Tossing Mia the car keys I grabbed on my way up, I warn her this might keep me there all day. “Take Lily to school and pick her up. Please sort dinner. Someone from my team will keep you posted, and I’ll call when I can.”
She throws the keys right back. “Are you crazy? I can’t drive on the wrong side of the road. You take the car. We’ll get a taxi, right, Lils?”
My Sunshine’s stare clouds over. “Something bad happened, Dad?”
“It did. To a friend of mine. I’m going to go and help the best way I can. Because that’s what we do in this family—we help others.”
Lily nods, eyes clearing.
“We’ll be fine,” Mia cuts in. “I’ll keep you posted too. Don’t worry about us. You’ll be working, and we’ll be having fun. As it’s supposed to be. Hope your friend gets better. Now go.”
I sprint back down, leave the kitchen as it is, and head out—keys and phone in hand, nothing else. I just need to get there.
* * *
The hospital doors swallow me whole, and the noise inside is nothing like home. No laughter, no squeals. Just the low thrum of urgency.
By the time I push through to the scrub room, the team’s already there. I watch them through the glass, feet getting steadier beneath me. My team. My people. They don’t ask why I came back early—they just nod, ready, never missing a beat.
I scrub in, the ritual both familiar and foreign, each motion mechanical, automatic. Soap to elbow, rinse, repeat. My hands move, but my chest pounds. It should never be this personal.
Kate’s voice echoes in my head: her dry laugh, her lectures, the way she always told us, “Precision is respect. You respect your patient by giving them nothing less than precise care.”
She’s lying in there now. And she asked for me.
The mask covers half my face, but it doesn’t hide the tightness in my jaw. I push through the OR doors, and the brightness slams into me. Drapes are up, monitors beeping, instruments laid out in perfect order.
She’s not under yet, but we don’t have time for pleasantries.
“You gambled with time. You know better.”
“Wouldn’t trust anyone else, Dr. Preston. You’re the best orthopedic spine surgeon I’ve ever trained.” I hold her hand, and she holds mine tighter. “The pupil who outgrew the master. Now fix me. I’ve got three kids waiting at home.”
“Sure, no pressure.” I wink and nod to the anesthesiologist. Once she’s down, I address the room. “All right,” I say, my voice steady when nothing else is. “Let’s move. Exposure first. Decompress fast. Stabilize clean.”
For the next eight hours, I excel in the only other place I belong.
Gloved hands pass instruments into mine, metal cold, grip steady.
The world outside disappears. There’s only the spine in front of me—shattered, unstable, begging to be rebuilt.
Once the surgery is over and Kate is out of danger, I walk her to the Post-Anesthesia Care Unit and stay until one of my interns takes the chair at her side.
He’ll sit there as long as it takes for the drugs to wear off.
I pull my favorite nurse onto the case too, and tell them to page me the second she starts to wake.
Then I text our head of neuro with an update and let him know I’ll need him later for her follow-up exams.
I unlock my office and step into my second home. Feels like I never left. Before sitting down, I grab my phone and scroll through Mia’s last five messages—updates, photos, little glimpses of their day. I exhale, shoulders dropping back where they belong.
The tempting thought returns. This could work.
I sink into my chair and check the time.
Almost four. They’re home, buried in homework, and judging by the pictures, surrounded by far too many plushies, if you ask me.
Apparently, Lily’s teacher called Mia earlier; said she didn’t want to stay for the after-school program, so Mia picked her up.
My Sunshine still hasn’t cleared her skies, but she knew where to go.
Home. And she trusted Mia enough to make the call.
This puts me at ease. Enough to type an e-mail to the board, announcing the date of my return and new working hours. Emergencies aside, I’ll be having breakfast and taking my child to school every day. I'll also meet her at home by 6:30 p.m.
I’ve trained my team well. April has more than proven herself. Callie has stepped up and above whenever April was out. I trust them without question.
No more missed moments and milestones. I’ll be there, watching my daughter grow up, being part of her daily life, building memories and the kind of bond only time can forge. The kind I’ll never again let work take from me.
My new schedule isn’t as neat—or anywhere near as colorful—as the ones Mia makes. At first, I picture her throwing a fit, trying to wedge PT, therapy, quiet time, and everything else she planned into my new hours.
But that image fades fast. What comes instead is her biggest smile. The one that always makes me wonder if it hurts—lips stretched wide enough to show her back teeth, cheeks lifted so high her eyes nearly disappear.
Yeah. That’s what she’ll give me when she finds out I’m going back to work.
April and Callie barge in without knocking—what a shocker—and I wipe the grin off my face.
They both start talking at once, but April wins the floor with a hand on Calista’s arm. “This is more than proof that you’re ready—”
“I’ve sent the board an email. I’ll oversee Kate’s recovery this week and be back officially next Monday. A slower transition for Lily’s sake.”
“I can accept that,” Callie declares, and I can’t help laughing at her. She cracks up too, then drops into the chair across from me.
April stays standing, hands braced on the backrest. “That’s amazing, Pres.” Relief softens her more than happiness does. “It’ll be so good to have you back.”
“And about time,” Callie throws in. Of course she does.
“Now leave, both of you. I need to check in with my gir—l” I bite off the plural before it betrays me and keep my eyes on the phone.
“Which one?” Cal teases, and I hate her for seeing right through me.
“Cut it out. Not funny. Someone will sit at Kate’s bedside for the next forty-eight hours. Keep winding me up, and I’ll assume you’re volunteering.”
I lift my gaze, waiting for the sulk. Instead, Calista flips me the bird and leaves my office smiling. April just shakes her head, too used to our antics, and trails after her best friend.
The door clicks shut, and I Facetime my girls. “My. Girls.” I claim it out loud in safe quarters, relishing the S sound.
Mia answers on the second ring. They’ve moved on to dinner—chopping veggies side by side. I watch them, a smile begging my rolling lips to give in to it. Mia doesn’t spare me a glance, her focus locked on Lily’s hand bracing the carrot and the other gripping the knife. “Fingers in, remember?”
“Oh yeah,” my child answers, tucking her fingers under. She chops once, then looks up. “Like this?”
“Just like that. Great job, love. You’re my sous chef from now on.”
Lily laughs, admitting she doesn’t know what that means—but that smile says she likes the sound of it anyway.
I’m hyperaware of Mia calling her love and can’t help wondering when—or if—my turn will come.
“Are you coming home for dinner, Dad? We’re making…” Lily looks up at Mia, face blank. “What are we making again?”
“Shepherd’s pie.”
“That’s right. But with lamb.” She says it loud, with pure thrill, as though it’s her first taste ever.
“That’s the only kind, Lils. With beef, it’s cottage pie.” Mia finally glances at me, and I take her in. She steals my breath every time. Even through a tiny screen. I doubt it’ll ever change.
“What are you teaching this kid?” she teases.
I shoot back, “Clearly, I have no idea what I’m doing. That’s why I need you.”
“Blimey, Pres.” She smirks without looking away from the chopping board. “Careful. You almost made that sound like a compliment.”
“Daaaad, are you coming for dinner?” Lily pipes up, eyes bright.
“And how’s your friend?” Mia asks.
“I’m coming home in a bit. Surgery went as well as we could hope, but I’ll have to head back tonight to check on her.”
“Come home. We’ll get you fed, fresh, and ready to go back there in no time.”
This could work. This could definitely work.